


Orëndil (He of the Heart)

by sharehenstar



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Epic Bromance, Fellowship of the Ring, M/M, Post-War of the Ring, Return of the King, The Two Towers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 08:23:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6462886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharehenstar/pseuds/sharehenstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As an Edan (Man) raised among Quendi (Firstborn), Aragorn has always known the price of being beloved by the Elves he calls his family. Now, with Middle-Earth upon the brink of destruction, he must learn he belongs as much to Men as he does to the Fair Folk…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orëndil (He of the Heart)

**Author's Note:**

> Way back when I first started writing LotR fanfiction (almost twelve years ago now ::winces::), I had up a story called These Bonds We’ve Forged that tracked Aragorn and Legolas throughout Tolkien’s (and Peter Jackson’s) saga. I have since taken it down, but I have always wanted to return to it, so now I have, and its below! Granted, it has gone through some major revisions, but at the heart of it, it is still the same—a saga about Legolas’s and Aragorn’s friendship (and possibly more). I hope you enjoy these little sketches!

To be fair, he _had_ (essentially) kidnapped their traveling companion.  Nor had he been particularly gentle with the _perian_ in his haste to extract Mr. “Underhill” from his quickly unraveling situation.

In his head, a voice like silver bells laughed at him, _“Clumsy Edan!”_ it taunted fondly.

As usual, the ache that accompanied such a memory did not go unfelt, despite the danger he now found himself (and his eventual travelling companions) in.

“What do you _want_ from me?!”

The cry wavered with fright, but he silently lauded the Hobbit for immediately gaining his feet and facing him head on.

“A little more caution from you would not be amiss!” he hissed softly, immediately setting about guttering out several lights.  “That is no trinket you carry!”

“I carry nothing!”

The valor and the fierceness with which the Hobbit spoke tugged at his spirit and cast his admiration to even greater depths.  _You are very like your uncle, aren’t you?  At least in regards to this._

Nonetheless, his face remained concealed from Master Baggins by his hood, and in the shadows cast by the firelight, he raised an eyebrow, holding back a scoff, “Indeed?”

He whirled away, licking his fingers to pinch out a few candles still shining in a window.  “I can avoid being seen if I wish,” he held back a wince as one of the flames scalded his fingers when he did not pull away quick enough, then whipped back around, yanking off his hood.  Tousled and tangled dark bangs fell scattered around his face, “But to disappear _entirely_ …that is a rare gift.”

He saw the Hobbit take a startled step back, sure that his cerulean-silver eyes must be blazing.  “Who are you?” the question was soft, wariness at its edges, but no longer filled with such fright.

A grim, sardonic smirk tugged at his lips, “Are you frightened?”

The Hobbit’s shoulders seized up, “A little,” he murmured.

The Man snarled softly, irritated and worried as he thought of what lay in store, “Not nearly frightened enough!  I know what hunts you.”

Frodo, despite himself, started edging towards the door, “Do you?” he asked quietly.

His soft shuffles stopped at the sudden transformation this Man’s eyes and face underwent:  no longer quite so hard, they blazed at him with fierce intent.  Whatever news or knowledge he bore, the Ranger was determined to carry it out.

Just as he opened his mouth, intending to speak, the door to their small parlor flew open.

IOIOIOIOIOI

A not-quite-cavalry burst through the entrance, carrying naught but their fists and a lighted candelabra.  Aragorn had sense enough not to laugh:

“ _‘Ere_!  Let ‘im go!  Or _I’ll have you_ , Longshanks!”

The cry held all the fierce protectiveness and righteous anger of the blond Hobbit’s stout little heart.

Aragorn sheathed his sword, having immediately drawn it upon the three Hobbits’ forced entry.  He gave the lead Hobbit a nod, drawing himself up, “You have a stout heart, Master Gamgee,” he saw the blond-haired Hobbit start at his name, “but that will not save you.”

Intent cerulean-streaked silver eyes suddenly sought Frodo’s, “You can no longer await the grey wizard, Frodo,” he saw Sam’s eyes dart to his master’s, seeking instruction. “They are coming.”

“Who is?”

Frodo’s question was abrupt, but Aragorn saw him wave Sam’s fists down.

“ _Ulairë_.  Black Riders.  You have seen them?” asked when Frodo’s eyes grew wide.

Silence, as tense and as taut as a bow string.  “If we have…what of it?”

For though he had waved Sam and the other Hobbits back, Frodo clearly would not trust him so readily.

Aragorn bit back a groan.  He had not expected any ease with this task, and truly, he appreciated Frodo’s caution; he had told him himself, after all, to exercise more care.  It would complicate things, though, far more than he wished.

Very aware he placed everything his Elven family had fought so hard to protect in the hands of a disbelieving Hobbit, Aragorn opened his mouth, prepared to speak of all he knew…when the door flew open once again.

Two forms tumbled in—one, Bill Ferny, and the other….a lithe, hooded figure whose face he could not see.

Had he a chance to examine them more closely, he would have easily recognized the second figure’s movement, but as they started to scuffle, Aragorn found himself catapulted into his Elven-honed senses.  Before four startled _perianneth_ could react with much more than a hastily stifled exclamation, he had corralled them behind him and unsheathed his sword with a ring.

Bill Ferny, seeing the sword, quickly realized he was outnumbered, and instantly swung out with his right hand.  The back of it cracked his assailant soundly across the face, before he beat a hasty retreat out the door.

A spat Elven curse caused Aragorn to snap his head towards the second figure in enough time to see the hood fly off and a waterfall of gold tumble over their shoulders as he (for ‘twas certainly a he) lunged for the door.

Barely able to register, let alone process, his Elven best friend’s presence, Aragorn gave a sharp, Grey-Tongued cry, ‘Legolas, _no_!  Do not follow him!’

Legolas (for Legolas it surely was, with those starlit blue eyes) instantly halted his forward momentum and immediately pivoted, spinning to face his Human best friend, ‘If I do not, then your quest will be forfeit, Estel!’

Aragorn snarled softly, abandoning his spinning thoughts, and gripped the fair being’s arm, yanking him close, ‘What would you have me do, Legolas?’ he hissed, low enough that the _perianneth’s_ ears did not catch it, ‘Forfeit _you_?  You do not know what hunts us!’

The Wood-Elf’s scoff was rather more audible, ‘Do not take me for an ignorant fool, Estel.  You forget whose son I am!’

Disconcerted by the heat in his best friend’s voice, Aragorn jerked back slightly and released Mirkwood’s Crown Prince, ‘Nonetheless, you must let him go.  We cannot linger here!’

Legolas scowled.  However, before he could refute the Ranger’s claim, a small throat cleared softly behind them.

Startled, both Man and Elf whipped around to face four frowning _perianneth_.  Frodo quietly studied Ranger and Firstborn, “We shall not follow two strangers we know nothing about.  So you best be quick about your explanation if you intend for us to leave with you.”

Aragorn straightened up, sheathing his sword, “A fair enough trade.”  He gave the faintest shadow of a smile, “Your uncle _would_ have taught you the Grey Tongue.”

As he’d intended it to, the mention of Bilbo did much to reassure, if not his companions, then at least Frodo.  “You know Bilbo?” the dark-haired Hobbit asked quietly, shifting to face Aragorn full-on.

The Dúnadan rubbed the back of his neck with a tired sigh, “I would say so.  My name, as I am sure Barliman told you, is Strider.”  He gestured to the Elf at his side, “This is Legolas Greenleaf.  You might better know him as the Elvenking’s son.”

This, at last, evoked a reaction from Frodo’s silent companions.  A flurry of gasps and murmurs, and three wide-eyed young Hobbits turned to stare at said prince.

…Who scowled at Aragorn under the unwanted attention.

The Ranger gave a rueful, but no less warm for all its weariness, snort, before turning back to Frodo, “We are friends of Gandalf the Grey, and we come now to aid you at your hour of need.”

 

 

_ End Sketch _

**Author's Note:**

> Perian = Hobbit  
> Edan = Human  
> Perianneth = Hobbits  
> Estel = Hope (Aragorn's Elven Name)


End file.
